Frisco's Choice
by RyooT
Summary: Alan Francisco has returned to the Navy. His knee however is only getting worse. A total knee joint replacement is his best chance to walk unassisted on his wedding day, but that means he will never run again-or is he?
1. Introduction

**Introduction**

This story is based on Suzanne Brockmann's story _Frisko's Kid_ which is part of her _Tall, Dark and Dangerous_ series. It features several of the characters of the original story and is set two years later: After finally accepting his disability and resulting limitations Frisco has returned to the Navy as an instructor and has even been promoted to Lieutenant Commander. His knee however is deteriorating and with Mia's and his wedding day fast approaching, Frisco has to submit himself to yet another surgery or he will most likely get married from a wheelchair.

While this short story stands on his own and isn't in any way contradictory to _Frisco's Kid _itself, it does not align 100% with the known facts stated in other books of the series. In my story, instead of Frisco's injury being caused by a sniper shooting out his knee, Frisco has a dream in which he is injured by a grenade. I'll argue that dreams are not necessarily exactly true to fact and therefore allow myself some poetic license in that regard. I'm mentioning the point just for the authenticity police out there ;-)

Now I hope you'll enjoy the story...

RyooT

As always any feedback will be greatly appreciated!


	2. Tuesday Afternoon

**Tuesday Afternoon**

Lieutenant Commander Alan Francisco ran a hand over his face and through his short, blond hair, shut down his laptop and pushed back his office chair from his desk at the Naval Base in San Felipe. It was an Aeron chair and he liked it. It was definitely the most comfortable chair he had ever had. The custom leg rest that was attached to it supporting his right leg was a blessing, too. Not that he would ever admit it, though. He had bristled at first when Alpha Squad, his former SEAL combat group had given him the chair to welcome him back into the Navy in his new incarnation as instructor—because it represented everything that was wrong in his life. At least it wasn't a wheelchair. That would have been unacceptable.

It was getting late and it was time to go. Alan Francisco shifted forward in the chair and winced as even the slight movement sent a burst of fire through his right knee. He took his right leg with both hands and lifted it carefully off the rest and set it down on the ground. Another fiery twinge overlaid the now persistent throbbing. Over the last six months his knee had deteriorated to the degree that he could no longer tolerate any weight on it. Simultaneously the joint had lost more and more flexibility so that by now he was limited to an agonizingly small range of motion between twenty and sixty degrees. _Something has to change._

He had finally admitted it to himself. He had known for a long time that his right leg would never be _right_ again. Two years ago he had finally admitted it. Two years ago he had finally been able to move on with his life. Back then he had hoped to simply maintain the status quo of being able to walk with a cane, but it didn't last. First he had had to trade the cane for one and then for two forearm crutches supporting ever more of his weight until now, once again, his leg was little more than a useless albeit painful appendage. He picked up the brace and put it over his fatigues immobilizing his knee at a forty five degree angle to keep it from being jarred too much while he walked.

He sighed and stood up, balancing on his good left leg and reached for his backpack. As he put it on he heard footsteps in the corridor outside. He pivoted and grabbed his elbow crutches that had been leaning against the sideboard behind his desk. As he took the first step he heard the familiar voice.

"Yo, Frisco. You still here?" Luke O'Donlon's voice came through the door a fraction before he pushed it open and came strolling into his friend's office.

Frisco stopped and despite the pain a grin spread across his face at the sight of his best friend and SEAL swim buddy. "Hey, Lucky. Welcome back."

If O'Donlon was thrown by the fact that his friend was on two crutches again, he didn't let it show. "Good to see you, man." He extended his hand. Frisco dropped the crutches and returned the greeting, pulling the other man into a bear-hug. "I'm glad you're back in one piece. Didn't want to have to start looking for a new best man."

"Wouldn't wanna miss it, but it's still six months, no?"

Frisco bent down and picked up his crutches again. "Come walk with me or I'll be late."

"Where you headed?"

"Appointment with the Doc."

"Check-up?"

"I wish. No, I made an appointment to talk to him about options."

"Is it that bad?"

"You can say that—and the last thing I want is to be on two crutches on my wedding day or worse in a wheelchair."

"So no chance it will improve if you stay off your leg for a while longer?" Lucky nodded towards the brace.

"I have been off my leg for nearly as long as you were deployed." Frisco said quietly, making Lucky strain to hear what his friend was saying. The admission startled him and he stopped in the corridor turning towards his friend. "You haven't walked on two legs in six months?"

Frisco shook his head. "No, and the problem is that I keep losing more and more range of motion as well. It just keeps getting worse."

"So you are going for the knee joint replacement then?" It was the last resort, the option that Frisco had declined all along since it meant that he would never do anything other than walk. Walk at a snail's pace. But at least he would be walking. He thought back at the five years he had lived with dogged determination through the numerous surgeries to fix his knee followed by more operations to remove scar tissue or improve his range of motion, but two years ago he had reached the end of the line and the Navy had cut him loose.

"I think it's inevitable. I know that with an artificial joint I will never run neither, but at least I will be able to walk which is more than I can do now. Maybe even slow dance at my wedding."

"What does Mia say?"

"She agrees."

They had reached the front door and Lucky opened it, stepped through and then held it for his friend. Frisco pulled a face, but said "thanks" anyway. Two more steps across the pavement they arrived next to Frisco's SUV. "Hey. Nice wheels."

"Yeah, got it three months ago." Frisco opened the driver door and put the backpack and crutches inside. "Better than the one I had before, huh?"

"No doubt about it."

Frisco pivoted on his good leg again until he was standing with his back against the high seat. He reached above his head and gripped the solid hand grips attached above the door. With ease he suspended his weight by his arms, stepped backwards up onto the running board with his good leg and pushed himself onto the seat. Sitting, he lifted his right leg into the foot room with both hands. Finally, when he looked at Lucky again, his hairline was beaded with sweat. "Hey Lucky, thanks for stopping by. I'm sorry I don't have time for you now, but how about tomorrow evening?"

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow." Lucky answered, carefully keeping his facial expression in check as he watched Frisco pull out of the disabled parking spot.

Frisco arrived at the VA hospital reception and asked for Doctor Horowitz. He looked around and set his eyes on the nearest chair. That was what his life had been like in the last six months. Forever limping from one chair to the next. Which was only just ever so slightly better than being in a wheelchair. Well, the wheelchair was probably inevitable for a while again, considering the kind of operation he was anticipating in his near future, but hopefully not for long.

Before Frisco had set his crutches forward and taken the first step towards the seat, a nurse arrived with one of the hated contraptions. "Lieutenant Commander Francisco?" She patted the backrest of the wheelchair.

Frisco sighed and surrendered to the inevitable. "Where are we going?"

"CT scan."

Forty minutes later the nurse wheeled him to a private consultation room then excused herself. Frisco got up on his crutches and limped over to the window. He was on the ground floor and outside, beyond the window, was the hospital's sports field, the running track around its circumference. Wistfully his eyes followed a solitary figure running laps in the early evening sun.

"I hear this is your secret wish, Lieutenant Commander Francisco."

Frisco had heard the door open behind him, but the voice that addressed him was not the one he had expected. He pivoted on his good leg and instead of his long-time doctor Steven Horovitz, a stranger was leaning against the inside of the door frame. He was tall and muscular, but not bulky. He was almost lithe—a runner's body. "What is?"

"Running."

Frisco raised an eyebrow. "You heard right, but unfortunately that ship sailed seven years ago." He took stock of the stranger. An African-American with olive skin, buzz cut, wearing a plain T-shirt that accentuated his well-developed chest, cameo fatigues, but instead of boots he wore running shoes.

"Seven years? You haven't run in seven years?" The stranger's dark eyes bore into his then he shook his head.

The gesture made Frisco angry. As if it was his fault he hadn't run. As if he hadn't tried _everything, everything_ to run again. He drew in a breath to voice his frustration, but before he could launch his defence the stranger carried on speaking. "When you dream—and I don't mean the bad ones, I mean the good ones—do you dream you're running?"

Frisco's expression darkened, but he throttled the anger somewhat. "Who are you? Some kind of shrink? I've passed all my psych evaluations."

The stranger walked forward and extended his hand. "I apologize, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Doctor John Eads. I'm a friend of Steven. I was in the area and he asked me for a consult on your case. So to answer your question; no, I'm not a shrink, I'm an orthopaedic surgeon like Steve."

Frisco nodded. "Ah. I see. Where is he?"

"He'll join us in a minute, but to get back to running—humour me—really, how much do you want to run?"

Frisco took a deep breath before he answered. "Hell, if I wasn't about to get married I'd damn near sell my soul to run again."

"What if you didn't have to sell your soul?"

Frisco didn't buy it. "And what's the catch?"

Eads shrugged his shoulders. "That's for you to decide."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll show you. Wait here." Eads turned and left the room.

Frisco's brow furrowed, but then he shrugged and pivoted back to the window resuming his observation of the solitary runner. Was this guy for real? Did he really have a way to heal his knee enough so that he would be able to run again? Maybe some type of experimental, artificial knee joint? He had scoured the Internet for weeks now. Reading up on any little detail, any case history he could find on artificial knees. Nowhere had he found any mention of the recipients being able to do anything more strenuous than walking or cycling leisurely. Certainly nothing that involved any kind of impact like running would inflict on a joint.

Just as Frisco started to wonder what took Eads so long, he noticed the doctor approaching the running track. _What the_ … Frisco noticed that Eads had the slightest of limps. At a casual glance it was nearly undetectable, but having scrutinized his own irregular, labouring gait for the last seven years, Frisco had become quite an expert in the rhythm and cadence of gaits.

Eads stepped on the track and set off at a jogging pace, picking up speed as he went. The last quarter of the track he took at a full-out sprint. Then he slowed again, waved at Frisco from the distance and jogged back towards the building. Less than two minutes later, sweating, but with his breathing already back under control Eads walked back into the exam room.

Frisco turned his back on the window as Eads entered, leaning against the sill and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Okay, so you can run—I can't. Are you telling me that you have a way to fix my knee?"

Again Eads shook his head. "No, I can't fix your knee. I have had a look at your scans. Nobody can fix your knee, but I _can_ make you run again."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Frisco's anger burst through the surface.

"Maybe you should have a seat."

Frisco stabbed a finger in the air at Eads. "No. I am fucking tired of sitting. I spend most of my life sitting." He closed the distance between his thumb and forefinger. "I am about this close to being in a wheelchair permanently. Thank you, but I'll stand. Even if I can only stand on one leg."

"Suit yourself, but I do have your best interest at heart."

"So then tell me what the hell you're talking about."

Eads crossed about half the distance between himself and Frisco then he stopped and pulled up a chair. He lifted his left foot and rested it on the edge of the chair's seat then he reached down and started to slowly roll up the left leg of his pants.

Frisco swayed and put both hands out sideways to steady himself against the window sill.

Eads shrugged again. "I told you to sit down, but no, you have to run your thick head against the wall first in anything you do, huh?"

"It seems Steven can't keep his mouth shut." He meant for it to come out angry and forcefully, but instead it was barely more than a croak. Frisco's heart was beating in his throat and he couldn't take his eyes of Eads' leg which the owner continued to reveal all the way up to the middle of his thigh. Frisco knew he was staring. Like people so often stared at him, but he couldn't help it.

He stared until Eads straightened up and drew his gaze up by looking straight into Frisco's dark blue eyes.

Frisco would have backed up at the intensity of the gaze, but he was already standing with his back against the wall. "No way. There is absolutely no way in hell ..."

"You don't need to sell your soul and you don't need to decide now, either. It's just one possible option." He smiled and reached back down, unrolling his pant leg again.

Frisco's eyes stayed riveted until a last turn and tug straightened out the fabric of the fatigues and once again hid John Eads' prosthetic leg from sight.

It was later than she had expected when Mia Summerton pulled her car into the driveway of her house next to Frisco's SUV. The PT meeting she had attended at the nearby high school where she taught history had lasted longer than expected. By now the last light of the day was fading away. The house was dark in the twilight; maybe Alan was having a nap. Alan. Her heart skipped yet another beat when she thought of her fiancé. If his meeting with his doctor this evening had gone as planned he would be in hospital again, soon. Yet another surgery, but hopefully it would be the last for a long time. At least fifteen years or so they hoped, until the artificial joint wore out and would need replacing with a new one. And maybe in fifteen years' time medical advancement would mean the last surgery ever. Fifteen years from now Alan wouldn't even be fifty yet, but he would never run.

She let herself into the house quietly so as not to disturb him if he was indeed asleep. She knew it was unlikely. Though Alan had finally conquered his insomnia brought on by PTSD, he now woke up often simply because of the pain in his leg when he shifted in his sleep; just as often as it prevented him from falling asleep in the first place. Still he doggedly refused strong painkillers, sleeping pills and fortunately he also refused to douse the pain with alcohol. That's why Mia was surprised to notice the open bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. She walked to the counter and placed her handbag next to the bottle. It was new and she saw that only a small amount was missing. Good. At least he wasn't drunk. She replaced the cap and screwed it tight. Anxiety surged through her at the thought that maybe Alan's meeting hadn't gone so well. That maybe the only thing Steven Horowitz had had to offer was more bad news.

Mia took a step to the side and looked out of the kitchen window onto the deck and the sea beyond. The moon was already high and bright in the fading sky; its light reflected in the surface of the Pacific Ocean. Her breath caught. Alan was sitting in the deck chair facing the kitchen; his white T-shirt the starkest contrast with the chair's dark slip cover. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. Then she finally understood what she was seeing.

In the near dark the illusion was almost perfect. Together with the T-shirt he wore light grey board shorts the legs of which he had pulled up to the middle of his thighs. His left leg was extended straight out in front of him, but at first she hadn't been able to see his right leg. For a brief moment it had looked as if Alan's right knee and lower leg were gone. He had covered his right leg with a dark towel so that but a small section of skin was visible between the shorts and the towel. His eyes were closed and he was holding the whiskey tumbler against his right temple.

Mia walked to the open door leading out onto the deck and hesitated for a moment before stepping outside.

"I don't bite." Alan said without opening his eyes. He was acutely aware of her standing by the door and looking at him. He opened his eyes as she took the step across the threshold onto the deck.

"Hi. I'm sorry the meeting took longer than expected." She walked around the deck chair and sat down on the edge on his left side, leaned forward and kissed him. She sat up and intertwined the fingers of her right hand with his left. "You gave me a fright there. For a second I thought …" She shook her head. Then she got up and pulled the next deckchair around and sat on the foot end next to him. She reached for his hand again.

His eyes followed her, but he didn't say anything. "How did your meeting with Horowitz go?" she asked, but instead of answering he followed up on her previous thought. "For a second you thought that my leg was gone?"

She nodded. "What are you doing Alan?"

"I am exploring my feelings." He put the whiskey down on the deck next to his chair then lifted her hand up to his mouth and kissed it gently.

"Your feelings about?"

"My feelings about what it would be like if instead of a knee joint replacement I had my leg amputated."

Mia reeled back, but didn't let go of his hand. Instead her grip tightened around his fingers. Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. "Don't tell me you are seriously considering that as an option." But in her heart she already knew the answer. He was.

"Why not Mia? I watched a man run this evening; running—no sprinting—on a prosthetic leg. I could run again, Mia. I could run and jump and I could dance with you at our wedding."

"But…"

"But what?" He spoke with a kind, gentle voice. "I had a long chat with Steve and this other doctor, the runner, John Eads. I have three options." He extended the index finger of his right hand. "The first one is to simply fuse my knee joint. That would leave me with a permanently stiff leg that's shorter than the other. Probably little pain in my knee, but a large potential for back problems due to the misalignment. I would walk with a bad limp, I wouldn't ever be able to sit properly. All in all the least desirable solution." He extended a second finger and looked up at her. "The joint replacement would give me temporary relief and a future of more surgeries. The bone density around my knee is already compromised, the knee joint may not fuse properly which could cause all kinds of other complications. The best post-surgical outcome would allow me to do no- to low-impact exercise like walking or cycling. Number tree..." he looked at her imploringly, "amputation just above the knee. Right here." He indicated a line across his leg above the knee cap. "I would be able to run, cycle, climb, jump, skydive—most of the things on my list."

"Except you still wouldn't make the Olympic basketball team." Mia mumbled.

Frisco chuckled quietly. "Granted. But honestly Mia, the idea is growing on me."


	3. Friday Morning

**Friday Morning**

Mia was sitting next to the phone, willing it to ring. She had tried reading, but she couldn't concentrate on the words on the page. Every so often her eyes swam with tears at the thought of what was presently happening to her fiancé: Captain Steven Horowitz was busy cutting off Lieutenant Commander Alan Francisco's right leg. Intellectually she understood perfectly well that this was the best solution. The last in a long list of surgeries spanning seven years of frustration and pain with a leg that was irrevocably broken. Nevertheless, it was _his_ leg. As much as she wanted the phone to ring to hear that Alan was out of surgery and doing okay, the ringing would also mean that the deed was done—that his leg was gone forever.

She thought back at the events of the last days. Things had happened so quickly, too quickly for her. Tuesday evening he had first mentioned the idea after his visit to the VA hospital. Wednesday morning he had taken leave for the rest of the week and all day he had done research. He'd invited John Eads over for the evening and the men had talked late into the night. And yesterday, yesterday evening she had taken Alan back to the VA hospital to get ready for the final surgery on his leg. "The sooner it's off the sooner I can walk again," was what he had said and "I want to carry you over the threshold on our wedding day."

She got up and paced. Finally, the ringing startled her and she nearly jumped at the phone. "Mia," Steven Horowitz voice came across the line, "everything went well. He's in recovery now, but we'll move him to his own room within the next hour. He'll be awake in about two. Will you be here when he wakes up?"

"Yes," she whispered into the phone and disconnected the line. Then she burst into tears.

The first thing that Frisco became aware of was the absence of pain. It had been his constant companion for nearly seven years. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but it had always been there. Its absence was almost disconcerting. He was drowsy from the anaesthetic, but his mind was already clear enough to realize that this absence had a specific significance, yet he wasn't quite sure what it was.

A minute later the realization of its significance hit him like a freight train. He had opted for the surgery that accomplished what the mortar round in Baghdad seven years earlier had failed to do, if only just. He had lost his leg.

He slowly opened his eyes. All he saw was the white ceiling. "I love you." Mia's voice. He became aware that she was holding his right hand and he turned his head towards her. _I love you, too._ He wasn't sure if he'd said it out loud or if it was just a thought in his head.

When he came around the next time, the fog in his head had cleared. Mia was still holding his hand. He opened his eyes and looked straight into her hazel eyes. He saw doubt and fear and sorrow and his only concern was to ease her pain. "Don't be afraid." He said in a whisper through dry lips. "I don't bite."

She stood up and leaned over him, took his face in both her hands and kissed him. Gently on his mouth and his eyes and the tip of his nose, not expecting anything in return.

"Is it gone?" He croaked. She nodded. He pulled his hand from hers and sat up slowly, supporting himself with his hands as he took in the white landscape of the hospital blanket in front of him. His right thigh next to his left, but next to his left knee, lower leg and foot was just a flat expanse of blanket. He looked at Mia whose eyes were firmly locked on his face. He reached for her hand again and said quietly. "Shall we have a look?" She squeezed his hand, bit her lower lip and nodded. Then she dropped her gaze to the edge of the blanket where Alan's other hand rested. He slowly started to turn up the blanket. Then with one sweeping motion he threw it back.

There it was. Swathed in a heavy bandage was the stump of his right leg.


	4. Saturday Morning

**Saturday Morning**

After his hospital breakfast which hadn't been half bad for once, Frisco was dozing comfortably. He had the backrest up so that he was half lying, half sitting. He noticed that the dull ache in his lower back and right hip had disappeared. Only now he realized how much strain a leg that couldn't extend properly had put on his body. Without opening his eyes he slowly slid his right hand forward on the covers on top of his right thigh until he reached the point where the blanket dipped away from him, the point where his leg now ended just above where his knee had been. So far he had only looked at it, but he hadn't had the courage to touch it, yet.

He didn't feel any pain from the amputation, and he had known exactly what to expect, but still, the shape under his hand was disconcerting. He would get used to it, though. Not that he had a choice about it anymore in any case. Unexpectedly he felt his chest tighten and suddenly panic and fear ripped through him and he shot up, sitting up straight, threw off the blanket and gripped the stump with both hands, staring at it in horror. His field of vision was narrowed and all he perceived was the bulbous white bandage around the remaining part of his leg in his hands. And then the tears came. He slumped over forward and cried. His eyes blinded by the tears, his hands groping, searching for his knee and lower leg that were no longer there.

After what seemed like forever he finally got his emotions under control. He lay back and slowed his breathing, clearing his mind. He examined himself, but found only peace inside. The sudden panic had subsided and left only stillness and acceptance in its wake. Talk about mood swings his internal monologue commented drily on his mental state. He heard the door open and opened one eye. Steven Horowitz was standing next to his bed, grinning.

"What's making you so happy?" Frisco asked quietly, but not without curiosity.

"The fact that before you know it you will be on your feet again."

"I think you meant to say foot."

"That's a matter of definition. I'm sure that sooner or later you will come to think of your prosthesis as _your_ foot and _your_ leg."

Frisco wasn't so sure about that. At the moment he couldn't think of the metal and plastic device that would at some future point in time provide near normal function but as an imposter; certainly not as part of himself. He didn't voice his concern. Instead he said "Didn't you say it was going to be a couple of months before I can run?"

"Yes, running, but I didn't say that you won't be able to walk until then. What I want is to get you out of here as quickly as possible. You sure will have to come to the clinic for regular check-ups, though."

"So much for Navy hospitality." Frisco sighed theatrically. "Have my leg chopped off one day and thrown to the wolves the next?" He tried to hide the grin on his face, but failed. "Just give me that damn wheelchair and I'll be out of here." He sat up and swung his left leg over the edge of the bed.

Horowitz pushed him back. "Not so fast."

"Oh, so you're not _that_ keen to get rid of me after all?"

"No. I want you to walk out of here, not wheel. If all goes according to plan, Mia can pick you up this afternoon. At two—_today_."

Frisco's face took on a look of incomprehension. "Now you're kidding, right?"

"No, Frisco, I'm not kidding at all. I think you'll be more comfortable at home. And don't worry, I'll also give you a wheelchair because you will find walking rather exhausting for a while, but your house is ideal. No stairs, no raised thresholds to trip over."

"Well, you know why." Frisco grumbled, but in fact he felt elated at the thought of being back home with Mia even before the weekend was over.

"Okay, now, Lieutenant Commander Francisco." He turned and went back into the corridor to fetch a wheelchair he had left outside the door. "Now I'll make you walk again."

Horowitz took Frisco to an exam room. Getting from the bed into the wheelchair and then onto the exam table, Frisco, used to navigating on one leg in any case, found that unencumbered by his knee and lower leg, he actually moved a lot more easily. The experience caused an interesting mix of emotions. After the panic attack he had suffered earlier over the loss of his leg he now felt almost giddy about it. For a brief moment he wished the grenade had done the job properly. But no. If it had he would have never met Mia. He would have probably ended up in a dead-end of despair and depression. The last seven years had been entirely necessary to make him realize who Alan Francisco really was. Seven years ago, in fact, as recently as two years ago, Alan Francisco had been defined by his physical prowess, by the respect he earned simply by being a SEAL. By being an active duty SEAL and then a _temporarily_ disabled SEAL. It had taken five years of running his apparently extraordinarily thick-headed skull against each and every wall, as well as the help of Mia and his niece Natasha, for him to accept that there was nothing temporary about his disability. Over time Alan Francisco had learned that he was more than a SEAL. That he could stand proudly on his own two feet—own one foot he corrected himself with a wry smile on his lips.

Horowitz noticed the smile playing around Frisco's lips. "Sorry to disturb your reverie, but are you ready to face the facts?"

"Sure. Bring it on." Frisco was leaning back against the raised end of the exam table and watched with interest and, he admitted to himself, a little apprehension as Horowitz pulled away his hospital gown and started to cut away the bandage, which, Frisco realized with surprise, went all the way up to his waist. Horowitz took little time and eventually he was down to the gauze padding covering the end of the stump. It was dry and only slightly discoloured. A good sign. He removed it carefully, but it almost didn't adhere at all. "Perfect." Horowitz mumbled.

Alan leaned forward and regarded the neat line of sutures he could see on the inside and outside of his leg and which, he reasonably assumed, went all the way around the bottom end of the stump. As if he'd read his mind Steven Horowitz went over to a counter, picked up a mirror that had been lying there face down and brought it closer, placing it in front of the stump so that Frisco could see it properly.

He regarded it calmly for a while and then said. "It looks almost like a zipper."

Steven was glad to see that the smile hadn't faded from Frisco's face. "Yes it does, doesn't it?"

"Imagine it was a zipper and I could attach a prosthesis directly to the bone and when I take it off, I'd just zip it up again." Frisco's index finger gently prodded one of the older scars which remained on his leg above the amputation. "It looks neat. It'll be just like one of these I suppose. How long till the stitches come out?"

"Normal, about two weeks. By the way, these kind of prosthetics that attach directly to the bone already exist. Still a bit experimental and if you want to run you better stick with the traditional socket ones for the time being, but who knows in a few years' time?" Horowitz shrugged.

"I think I've had enough surgeries for more than one life time already. I think I may give that a pass."

"Sure."

"Now spill the beans. You said you're going to make me walk. That didn't sound like hobbling around one-legged on crutches like I have done for the last six months."

Horowitz put the mirror away again. "Indeed, but before we get there let me just check a few things." He made Frisco move his leg, made him turn on his side and stomach and move it some more. At last he seemed satisfied. "Because of the level of the amputation we were able to attach all the muscles through their tendons which makes for a much stronger connection. It's not like you'll be up to long walks straight away, just a few minutes at a time at first, but you'll be amazed how fast you'll improve. Especially once the stitches come out."

"Okay, I'm dying of curiosity here. Now fill me in already."

"It's called an immediate postoperative prosthesis. I'll put your leg into a cast and attach a prosthesis to it. It has a knee joint, but that will lock when you walk. You unlock it when you sit down. You can also remove it with a spanner when you go to sleep."

Frisco looked confused. "But how do I bear the weight? Certainly not on the end of the stump or do I?"

"No, you'll see. It's almost like you're sitting on the edge of a chair." The confusion dissipated into a wide grin. "I see. Well then get on with it already. You know I'm not the most patient of patients."

Horowitz sighed meaningfully. "And don't I know it."

By eleven o'clock a most impatient Alan Francisco was rearing to get out of the wheelchair in which a nurse was pushing him to the physio therapy centre. The cast was a padded plastic shell, but it extended a bit beyond the end of his thigh so that it did not actually touch the end of the stump. It was quite tight, but not at all uncomfortable. The bottom end of the cast was flat and sported a metal plate and pin to which in a few minutes his first artificial leg would be attached. At the door Horowitz and, to his pleasant surprise John Eads as well, where waiting for him. John was wearing board shorts which allowed Frisco another good look at the other man's artificial leg. "Ready for your first steps?" John inquired.

"Can't wait. My first proper steps in nearly six months." They stopped next to a table on the far side of the room. John Eads picked a metal rod off the table, the end of which, to Frisco's surprise, was wearing his right running shoe. For some reason he had expected his first leg to be more of a peg leg and not one with a foot and even his own shoe on it. He found that strangely moving. Was it really only the day before yesterday that he had removed his right shoe from his foot before climbing into his hospital bed with a sense of loss and sadness that he would never wear his right running shoe again? And here it was again, on his new foot. _His new foot?_ How had that happened? Eads knelt down in front of him and attached the pylon with a spanner. Then Horowitz pushed him in front of the parallel bars and Frisco reached for both bars to pull himself up to stand between.

"Okay. Keep all your weight on your left leg at first." With Horowitz and Eads on either side Frisco pulled himself up. He stood. On two legs. And Horowitz was correct; it felt like on the right side, he was sitting on the edge of a chair. What a weird feeling.

"Good." John said. "Now put some weight on your right leg and support yourself with both arms and take a step with your left leg—good—now bring the right one next to the left. Remember your knee won't bend yet. So you will have to hitch up your right hip a bit and then swing the leg forward."

It worked. It was a bit uncomfortable and clumsy, but uncomfortable and clumsy or not, he was walking! For the first time in six months he was putting his weight on his right leg and walked. To the end of the parallel bars where he pivoted on his good leg and back. He practised for ten minutes, buoyed by Horowitz and Eads' shouts of support and approval. When at the end he collapsed exhausted into the wheelchair with a great big grin on his face, he was happy. He knew he'd made the right decision.

Two hours later, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of long, wide-legged jeans that John Eads had brought for him, Frisco was sitting in his wheelchair out of sight behind a corner beyond the reception area, waiting full of anxiety and anticipation for Mia to arrive. John Eads was sitting next to him, trying to help him calm his nerves. Frisco couldn't remember when last he'd been this apprehensive. He felt like a nerdy teenager before his first date with the prom queen. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Don't worry. You won't trip. It will be cool and your fiancée will be over the moon to take you home." He let the mantra of John's quiet voice soothe him while at the same time listening for Steven Horowitz voice. Horowitz who was waiting by the reception desk to head off Mia and give Frisco time to get to his feet and walk around the corner on his own.

Eventually, after what had seemed like an eternity. Frisco heard Horowitz address Mia. "Mia. Can I talk to you for a moment, please?" Followed by Mia's voice, full of alarm. "Yes, of course. Why? Is something wrong?" Frisco grabbed his forearm crutches with which he had also practised earlier and stood up. John just made sure that he kept his balance. When he was standing securely Eads gave him a pat on the back and sent him on his way. Slowly, carefully controlling every single step, Frisco stepped out from behind the reception area.

At first Mia thought that she was mistaken, that her mind was playing a trick on her, making her see Alan when it was some other man who was walking slowly towards her. But the image held. It was Alan with two crutches and _two_ legs. Granted he was walking slowly and stiffly, but he was walking and he was smiling at her. Relief flooded through her and she just left Steven Horowitz standing where he was, no longer hearing his words.

She walked up to Alan slowly and wrapped he arms around him, careful as always after two years of practice not to throw over his tenuous balance, but he felt solid. She looked up into his eyed, tears sparkling in hers. "Mia it's all good. I love you Mia."

"I love you, too. I am so happy for you."

Frisco kissed her and said "Are you ready to take me home?"

"Are you serious? You are allowed to go home already?"

He nodded. "John?" He called. John came out behind the corner bringing the wheelchair. Frisco looked at Mia. "I'm still a bit wobbly on my feet, but I promise you on our wedding day I will walk all on my own and I will dance with you and carry you over the threshold."


	5. Saturday Afternoon

**Saturday Afternoon**

Frisco was sitting at home in one of his comfortable lounge recliners, _both_ legs stretched out in front of him. For the first time in days he switched on his cell phone. He was promptly overwhelmed by a flood of messages and missed calls, but he ignored them and called Lucky instead to apologize for cancelling on him a few days earlier without much of an explanation.

"Where are you?" Lucky's gruff, accusatory tone came clearly over the airwaves.

"At home."

"I thought you're in hospital getting ready for your surgery." A little less gruff this time.

"I was."

"But? You change your mind at the last minute?"

"Lucky, can you come over? I think I owe you an explanation, but not over the phone."

"Hmm. Sure. Give me half an hour."

Frisco closed the call. Mia walked out of the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Frisco. "Okay Mister Francisco, show me your new toy." she said, smiling encouragingly and sat down on the armrest of the recliner

Frisco put the cup down next to the chair, leaned forward and pulled back the right leg of his pants. "It's only temporary, just to get me walking. It promotes healing and reduces the swelling faster. Once the stitches come out I'll get another temporary one, but with a proper knee and in a couple of months, once the training wheels come off so to speak, I'll get the permanent leg for everyday office work. On top of that around the same time I'll get a special leg for running."

"Are you going to give them names? I read online that some amputees give their prosthetics names."

He looked at her for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No, I don't think so. It is actually quite strange, but let me try to explain." Mia nodded. "When they first put the cast on my leg, the prosthesis was not yet attached. They took me to the therapy centre and there John Eads was holding the leg and it was wearing my shoe and even at the distance, before John even attached it to the cast, it felt like _my_ leg. Even though it's just cold metal and plastic and it can't feel a thing, psychologically it _is_ my leg. I could take it off now and put it on the other side of the room and I would see it there and think _what the fuck is my leg doing on the other side of the room? _I know this must sound freaky weird to you and believe me when I hear myself say it, it sounds weird to me, too."

"I don't think it's freaky or weird. It just is what it is."

"Shuh" Frisco made a theatrical gesture of relief that made Mia giggle. She put her mug away and tried her hardest not to choke on that last sip of coffee. "And I thought that if not my sight alone made you think of me as a one-legged freak then my unconditional, no-holds-barred confession would have done it. I guess I'm not the freak in the family after all, but you are." He pulled her off the armrest into his lap and into his arms.

Mia only disentangled herself from Frisco's arms when they heard the knock on the door. "Lucky." Frisco informed her while she was on her way to the door and he straightened the leg of his pants, hiding the prosthesis again. "I asked him to come over."

"So what's the story, Frisco?" Lucky asked after he had kissed Mia on the cheek and sauntered into the lounge. He plopped down on an ottoman and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Did you get cold feet at the last minute and call off the surgery?"

"No. I didn't. I had it already. I'll show you." Frisco scooted over to the side of the recliner away from Lucky and carefully lifted his right leg over the edge locking the knee joint. Then he grabbed his crutches and pushed himself up. Slowly he walked around the chair towards his friend. Lucky watched and grinned up at him. "Awesome; so in a while you'll be back to swivelling your walking stick then? Welcome back to the land of the bipeds."

"Sorry Lucky, but you're wrong on all accounts, I'm afraid."

Lucky's brows drew together. "What do you mean, I'm wrong? How?"

"In a couple of weeks I'll be walking without any crutches or cane and if all goes according to plan in about four to five months I can start running again."

"But I thought you said that you wouldn't be able to run with a knee joint replacement?"

"No I wouldn't. That's why I didn't have one." Frisco stopped in front of Lucky.

"Oh, come on Frisco," Lucky moaned, looking up at the tall man standing in front of him, "do I have to drag every little detail out of you?"

Frisco winced. "Lucky, please. I'm just working up the courage to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

Frisco sighed. "Okay. Have a look. Pull up the right trouser leg."

Lucky slowly reached for the hem and lifted it. He had expected that it would catch on Frisco's leg, but instead it slid up effortlessly along a shiny metal pylon. Lucky gasped. "Oh my god," he whispered, "oh my god, Frisco, they cut your leg off? How could Horowitz do that to you?" Lucky's voice had turned into a rasp.

Frisco turned and carefully sat down on the recliner next to Lucky. "Lucky, it was elective surgery. I asked him to do it."

"But why would ..." Lucky seemed to be experiencing something akin to shock. All colour had drained from his face and he was shaking.

"Why wouldn't I give up a leg that hurts 24/7, that won't bend or extend, that can't bear my weight? It was holding me back. That's why."

Lucky nodded slowly. "I guess I see your point. It's … it's … it's just so damn unexpected. Couldn't you have given me advance warning?"

"So you would have had the opportunity to talk me out of it? Because—be honest—that's what you would have tried to do."

"I guess." Lucky admitted hesitantly.

"You know sometimes you need your friends as sounding boards, but sometimes when you are about to make a decision as fundamental and life-changing as the one I made you just have to know in your gut that it's the right thing. No matter what anyone else thinks."


	6. Sunday Morning

**Sunday Morning**

Frisco heard the whistling noise followed by a detonation. Close. Too close for comfort. Still he pressed on. He had to. He was the point man. He had to find the way to what was no more than the shell of a house one more block down the dusty Baghdad road. In the basement of that house, they knew from a spy drone's IR images, were five people. Two of which were the hostages they were here to rescue. Frisco ducked behind another battle-scarred wall and looked back at the three members of Alpha Squad behind him, giving the hand-signal for them to hold their positions. Frisco checked on the other half of the team advancing on rooftops across the road, then the alley again that he was about to cross to slip into the next ruin of a building. He started to cross the seven metres of open space in a crouch when he heard Harvard's voice over the headphone. _Incoming. Incoming_. Another whistle. He started to run. Another detonation. He jumped, aiming for safety behind a low brick wall. Frisco stepped out of his body like you can only do when you dream, when you can be in more places than one at the same time. Watched himself in slow motion half jumping, half being thrown by the explosion, his upper body already shielded by the wall, when the bowling ball size piece of concrete tumbled down towards him, much faster than he was moving. The two trajectories utterly predictable, the point of intersection his right knee. Both his incarnations gasped—the one that was flying and the one that was watching—knowing that only the blink of an eye remained until the piece of concrete would pin his leg to the ground turning his knee into a mess of torn ligaments, messed up cartilage and broken bones. But this time the dream was different. The fragment rotated one last time and it wasn't a jagged ball of stone at all, but a piece of steel, thin as a blade. Instead of smashing his knee into the ground, it sliced straight through his leg, taking it off cleanly above his knee. His momentum still carried him forward leaving his right knee and lower leg behind in the dirt. What didn't change was the pain. In reality the pain had only come later once the initial numbness of the shock had worn off, but in his dreams the pain was always immediate.

Frisco woke up with a start, his heart hammering in his chest, the sheets drenched with sweat. He closed his eyes again and groaned through clenched teeth. Usually as soon as he awoke the pain dialled down a few notches. Not today. The pain remained agonizingly intense, burning his right knee from the inside out. Disoriented he pulled the sheet away from his right leg. Even its light weight was putting too much pressure on the joint. He half pushed himself up on his elbow reaching for his right knee with his hand. Only when he touched the hard shell encasing his right thigh did reality seep in; his knee, his leg was gone. At least part of what he was feeling was phantom pain.

He lay back and groaned some more, trying not to disturb Mia. "Dammit." He whispered through clenched teeth. When would he finally learn to heed others, particularly his doctor's advice? Horowitz had told him that it was likely that in the beginning he would experience phantom pain and had recommended that Frisco take the painkillers as prescribed to head off just such attacks. Stupid fool that he was he had skipped the dose before going to sleep to see if he could do without. Obviously not—yet. He reached for the capsule on his night stand and swallowed it dry and resigned himself to more torture, phantom or otherwise until such time as the painkiller kicked in. What had he been thinking? After all, it wasn't even forty eight hours since the amputation.

The phone on the night stand next to Frisco's side of the bed started to vibrate. He picked it up checking the time and the number. It was ten to five and a number he didn't recognize. He cursed silently. _Who the fuck is calling at five on Sunday morning_. "Francisco," he whispered into the phone.

A man's voice started "Lieutenant Commander ..."

"Please hold for a moment." Frisco said quietly, but with unmistakable authority. He put the phone on the night stand, grabbed his board shorts lying on the ground next to his bed and pulled them on then he grabbed his crutches and the phone and made his way into the lounge.

"Sorry you had to wait. Who is this?"

"Sorry to bother you this early in the morning, Sir. This is Sergeant Wrine. I'm with the San Felipe Police Department. There was a fire in the apartment complex your sister stays in."

"Oh my god. Are they..."

"No, they are okay. Your sister is suffering from smoke inhalation. The medics want to take her for observation. Your niece is perfectly fine. Your sister asks if you could come and fetch her until everything is sorted out. Hang on I'll pass the phone to her now."

Frisco heard some scuffling then Sharon came on the line. "Shar, are you and Tasha okay?"

Her voice was raspy and she was short of breath. "Fine. Please come and get Tasha, just for a day or two." She wheezed. "I won't let them take me until you're here."

"Don't worry Sharon. I'll be there in ten minutes." He ended the call and thought for a moment. Should he wake Mia? He looked down at his right leg, the encased stump sticking out the end of his board shorts. Should he attach the prosthesis and put on his jeans? This wasn't the way he had planned to break the news of his surgery to his sister and her daughter, but time was of the essence and getting dressed would take time. Also as much as he wanted to walk on two legs, at this stage the prosthetic leg would just slow him down. He took his crutches and walked over to the scullery where he got a T-shirt out of the dryer. He scribbled a quick note for Mia in case she woke up and found him gone, grabbed his keys and headed out the door. As he got into his SUV two things occurred to him. First that the pain in his leg was gone. He had forgotten all about that. Secondly he noticed again how much easier it was to move without his leg. Even driving was a breeze now that his right leg was no longer in the way.

A few minutes later Frisco pulled into the parking lot of Sharon's apartment complex. Numerous police cars, ambulances and fire trucks were present. He parked as close as he could, got his crutches and started looking for Sharon and Natasha. When he approached the ambulances he heard Tasha's voice before he saw them. Three ambulances were parked along the curb and once he'd passed the first he saw Natasha sitting in the open doors of the next, a police officer standing next to her. He saw Sharon on the gurney inside, ready to be taken to hospital. She was wearing a breathing mask and her eyes were closed.

Tasha saw him and jumped down running toward him. "Frisco!" she shouted, not missing a beat and threw her arms around his waist. She was still wearing her pyjamas.

"Hi Tasha. Everything's okay. I'll take you home so that the doctors can check out your Mom. She's going to be fine. She just needs to rest for a bit. Let me just talk to the officer and your Mom for a moment then we'll go and have pancakes for breakfast. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good. Sounds good." Tasha was over-excited, jumping up and down in front of him. Frisco would have liked to pick her up in his arms, but with the crutches that was still out of the question, but soon. Soon.

The police officer was staring at Frisco's missing leg. Then he caught himself and addressed Frisco, blushing. "Lieutenant Commander Francisco? Sergeant Wrine. We spoke on the phone."

"Sergeant." He nodded towards the officer. "Let me just speak to my sister quickly then they can take her." He climbed awkwardly into the ambulance, shuffled sideways then sat down on the low bench next to her. Sharon's eyes were open and wide. She had pulled the breathing mask away from her face. "Alan." Her voice was raspy but shrill. "What happened to your leg?"

"Shhh. Don't worry about me now. I will explain later. I'll take care of Tasha as long as necessary. I'm on leave at the moment." He took her hand. "Give me a call later when you know what's gonna happen. I want to get Tasha out of here now."

"Okay. Thank you." She had tears in her eyes.

He squeezed her hand and then got out of the ambulance again. The paramedic that had been standing off to the side got in, closed the doors and the ambulance pulled away. Sergeant Wrine turned to Frisco. "Someone will contact you later today in case your niece saw or remembers anything about how the fire started. Unlikely, but just to cover all bases."

Frisco nodded.

"Would you like me to walk to your car with you?" He paused, squinting up at Frisco. "I have a seven-year old myself. I know what they can be like."

The familiar resentment rose in his throat. The implication of the statement was clear and if there was something that Frisco hated above anything, it was having to need other people's help. It had become easier since Mia had come into his life, but still it rankled him. He swallowed his pride. "Sure." In a few months all of this would be over. Once he could walk without crutches, once he could run, he wouldn't need a baby sitter to make sure that Tasha didn't take off at a run.

On their way Tasha told the story about how her Mom had just grabbed her and they had run out of the flat five times over, while Frisco and Sergeant Wrine walked in silence. They arrived at the SUV and Frisco unlocked the car. "Okay Tasha. I don't have a booster seat for you, so we'll take it easy. Would you like to sit next to me in the grown up seat?"

"Yes, yes." Tasha clapped her hands "I'm big now, you know. I'm seven."

"Yes, I know you're a big girl now." Frisco grinned at his niece while he buckled her into the passenger seat. He closed the door and offered Wrine his hand. "Thank you for looking out for her." He said as the officer shook.

Wrine turned to leave, but then he turned back. "May I ask you a question about your leg?" Frisco nodded. "Did you lose your leg recently? Your sister seemed really surprised."

"My leg was injured a long time ago, but yes, after seven years of unsuccessful rehabilitation I elected to have my leg amputated a few days ago."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. Short of asking my girlfriend to marry me it was the best damn decision I ever made."

Frisco pulled out of the parking lot for the short drive back to his house. "We have to be really quiet when we get home. You know; SEAL quiet. We have to sneak into the bedroom and surprise Mia because she was still asleep when I left to get you. I think she's still asleep, now."

Tasha giggled. They had played SEAL games many times before. Frisco had taught her how to walk quietly, breathe quietly and the hand signals that meant advance or stay back. Tasha loved these games. "I will be really quiet. I know how. Where is your leg? Is it so you can be more quiet?"

"Yes Tasha. It's for many reasons. One reason is so I can be more quiet, another is so I can run again, so I can run with you on the beach." He reached over and ruffled his niece's curly, red hair.

"Good. Where is it? Your leg I mean. Is it like you sent it away to be repaired and when it comes back you put it back on? Mom sent our TV away. The picture was all green, but when it came back it was all normal again. When will your leg come back?"

"It's not coming back Tasha. My leg was really broken. Too broken to be repaired."

"Oh." Her brows drew together and she looked like she might cry.

"But I will get a new one." Frisco said quickly, trying to head off the tears. "In fact I already have a new one at home. I just wanted to get you quickly first before I put the leg back on."

"Oh." She said again, but this time her mood had shifted towards happiness again. "Can I watch how you put your leg back on? I have never seen that before."

"Sure. And then we are going to make pancakes, okay?"

"Pancakes, pancakes." Natasha sang as Frisco turned into the drive way. Frisco lifted his right fist and Natasha was silent instantly, clasping both hands in front of her mouth. The SEAL game had begun.

After they had ambushed Mia who had at least pretended to still be asleep and a round of cuddling all three sat on the bed and Natasha retold the story of how it was all smoky in her Mom's bedroom, but not in her room and how her Mom had just come and grabbed her and taken her outside. "Mom was coughing really bad, but Frisco said she's okay. She just needs to rest a bit."

"That's right princess. We'll call your Mom later and find out if she needs to stay in hospital until tomorrow or not. After breakfast we'll go back to your place and get some clothes for you, okay?"

"Okay and crayons and paper and Mr Biggles." She added excitedly.

"Who's Mr Biggles?" Mia asked, concerned that Sharon might have gotten her daughter a hamster or guinea pig and dreading the drama should Mr Biggles have succumbed to the smoke.

"Mr Biggles is my teddy bear."

"Oh, I see. Mr Biggles is a nice name for a teddy bear," Mia said breathing a sigh of relief.

"Mr Biggles also needs a new leg." The girl turned to Mia and said with all the gravitas she could muster: "Do you know that Frisco sent his leg away to be repaired, but they said it's too broken and they won't give it back to him?"

"Yes I know, Natasha." She looked at Frisco over Natasha's head. He was smiling back at her. "Your uncle Alan was very brave to tell the doctors to send his leg away because he knew that most likely they weren't going to give it back."

"But he said they gave him a new one instead. A better one so that he can run on the beach with me." Natasha said triumphantly. She turned to Frisco. "Will you show me how you put your new leg on?"

"Sure." Frisco reached down for the prosthesis and the spanner that had been out of sight on the far side of the bed. He lifted it up and showed it to Natasha. He eyes grew wide. "They have given you the wrong one." She said indignantly. "This doesn't look like your leg at all. It's just a shoe on a stick. How can you put this on? Tell them they must give you your own leg back."

"Tasha, they can't give me my leg back. Do you remember the man who lived in the house across the road from you in Phoenix? The one who was missing two fingers?" Natasha nodded. "That's what's happened to my leg. It's gone, forever. It's not coming back, but this one," he pointed at the prosthesis that he was now busy attaching to the cast, "this one helps me walk and in a couple of weeks I'll get another stick leg and with that one I will walk even better and in a couple of months I'll get one with which I can run."

"Oh." A number of emotions rushed over Natasha's face. Finally her face lit up. "You're like the pirate captain I saw in a movie. He also had a stick leg, but he was scary. You're not scary."

"I can be a scary pirate captain, too, princess. I will steal you and hold you prisoner on my ship."

"But you don't have a ship." Tasha giggled again.

"No, but I have a stick leg and I'm in the Navy. I think two out of three is good enough." He grinned at Mia then he pulled both the giggling Natasha and Mia into his arms.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Mia was watching Alan standing with his back to her at the bar at the far end of the marquee chatting to Lucky, Harvard and his former CO Joe Cantalanotto. The SEALS all wore dress uniforms, all of them big, strong, courageous men, but to her, Alan would always be the one who stood out as the bravest of them all. Not because of the fact that they put themselves routinely into harm's way, but because of the decision he had made six months ago. She let her gaze trace down his body to his right leg. She could see the vague outline of the prosthetic's socket which fit his thigh like a glove. It was the only tell-tale sign of his artificial leg.

He turned around and found her smiling at him and he winked and smiled back. He raised his champagne glass to her then finished the last sip and turned back, placing the glass on the bar counter. The group of men erupted in claps and cheers, hand-shaking all around and then Alan turned again, walking toward her with just the vaguest unevenness in his step. On the way he picked a white rose out of one of the vases and walked up to Mia.

He knelt down on one knee in front of her; one of the few movements that Mia knew was really difficult for him. She felt so proud, so incredibly proud of him.

"Mrs Francisco?" He said formally with a gleam in his eyes, holding out the rose for her. "You are so incredibly beautiful. If you weren't married to me already I would ask you again, but since you are how about we move on to the final part of our wedding day?"

She took the rose from him and stood. "With pleasure." She held out her hand and he took it, using it to balance himself against her while he stood up, too. Nobody knew how many times they had practised this seemingly innocuous manoeuvre until he had been able to push himself up on his one leg without snagging the prosthesis and losing his balance. She had marvelled at his good-naturedness as well as tenacity as he tried again and again, laughing every time he tripped until he had finally figured it out.

While they walked to their SUV together, followed by the cheers and well-wishes of the wedding party, Mia thought about the time since Alan's surgery. The last six months had been a real revelation. Every day he had discovered something new he could do and every day he had told her about his setbacks and victories. Six weeks ago he had received his running blade and they had started jogging together every morning. By now she was struggling to keep up with him. Of course there were some real limitations since he couldn't actively move his knee or ankle, but he accepted them graciously.

Alan pulled into the driveway in front of their house and got out. He went to unlock the front door and opened it wide then he walked around the car and opened the door for Mia. He picked her up in his arms, carefully gathering the skirt of her white wedding dress to keep it from wrapping itself around his prosthesis and making him trip and carried her all the way into their bedroom. On the way he even managed to kick the front door closed with one well-placed swing of his artificial leg.


End file.
